Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He didn't know exactly when it started. If you asked him, he wouldn't be able to pinpoint the moment he started feeling this way.

At his best guess, his affection for both of you gradually increased over time. Feelings large and encapsulating, a cloud of strings in his mind. Tangling with his own and with each other, looped over and over, until it was hard to separate where you began and he ended. A beautiful mess of knots, threads that he never wanted to pull loose.

And he was content that way, with a messy tangle of feelings. He knew you loved him wholly and completely, and that he felt the same. You were always enough for him.

But the threads kept pulling taught, fibers stretched to their upper limits until he could feel every bit of the fraying. The baited breath, the anticipation for when he just snaps.

The moment he noticed, was the day you had gone to training with Hoseok.

There wasn't anything odd about it. On any day prior, he wouldn't have even thought twice about it. You two were training for a marathon, for charity. Both independently deciding to participate and then finding it better to train together. For the motivation, for support. Something normal, something friends do with each other. Completely platonic. Completely appropriate for a married woman and her husband's best friend.

So tell him why when you came home, panting and sweaty. Clothes and hair a mess, Hoseok your mirror image. He found himself conjuring all sorts of scenarios of what you could have done rather than what you obviously did.

He remembered his throat going dry as you panted in the entry way. Tongue darting out to trace his bottom lip, his eyes dragged across you. Across both of you. Your collar was askew, tank top strap slipping down your shoulder. Both of you were so sweaty as if you had just… gaze tracing the bead of sweat that rolled from Hobi's chin down to his collarbone.

"Hobi really put me to work", you whined at him as you tried taking your shoes off without toppling over. Hoseok was behind you holding out his hands to steady you, if needed. He chuckled as he stood there, looking at Yoongi with mirth dancing around his eyes.

"She's being a bit dramatic", he said smirking over at him.

You were bent at the waist, untying shoes as you turned to look over your shoulder at him. And it was worse, so much worse watching you like that, when Hoseok was right behind you. He felt as though he couldn't look away from Hobi's hands. His own fingers twitching while he waited to see if he would grab you.

"I'm not going to be able to walk tomorrow", you said as you pouted up at him.

And Jesus Christ, he had to bite back his own groan. Not what you meant, absolutely not what you meant. He trusted you, knew you wouldn't. Knew Hobi wouldn't.

That sentence made him grip his own thighs, dimpling the skin. His dick twitching in interest, pressed up against his jeans, an uncomfortable pressure at his zipper. One offhand innocent comment, and he was half hard for the both of you to see.

He wanted to grab a pillow, cover it before either of you caught him, but fuck… the idea. That maybe instead of running you two- behind his back. And then came home without bothering to hide the evidence. The thought of it sent him squirming.

And Hobi saw, because of course he did. Sent him a slow, sly smile as he looked pointedly at his lap. He felt like he wanted to pant. Wanted to loll his tongue out and show him how he was drooling over the idea that he took the love of his life out and then fucked her good and hard.

"I'll leave you two alone", he said, sending Yoongi a distinctly smug glance. "Have a fun night", he sang as he shuffled out the front door.

You scoff over your shoulder. "Don't know what fun I'll be having", you mutter to yourself and fling the tennis shoes off your feet.

He watched as you put on his house slippers. Feet dwarfed by the sheer size of his own. You winced as you stepped forward, rubbing gently at your hips. He swallows, wiping the growing sweat on his palms off onto his pants.

"I'm just gonna lay down and die from how sore my-", you start. Huffing and complaining and parking yourself on his lap. He notices when you feel it, blinking a bit at him in surprise, and his cheeks grow red at the look on your face. "Oh", you mutter, looking at him a bit quizzically.

"It's not-", he starts. Trying to find a way to defend himself without revealing the thoughts running through his head. "You just look good right now", he whines.

"Baby", you start. "I'm all sweaty and gross".

"That's-", he starts and then swallows to clear his throat. "That's kind of the point".

"Mhm", you hum at him and lean close to brush your noses against each other. He leans forward a bit desperately, trying to catch your lips between his own. You don't allow him the messy exchange he was aiming for. Lips gliding slow against his as your curl your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. He sighs softly against you, head fuzzy at the sugary sweet pecks you give him.

Pulling back to look him in the eye, you whisper against him "I don't believe you". His toes curl slightly as he relishes the vibration against his mouth, trying to chase it to the source. You tug on his hair, preventing him from pitching forward.

"No?", he mumbles and you shake your head at him in response. "Let me prove you wrong?", he purrs, pulling the tight elastic fabric away from your skin. Slowly rucking it up your torso so he can dance his fingers along your sides.

You squirm in his lap, little puffs of breath escaping you when the gentle touch turns ticklish.

"Yoongi!", you yelp as he digs harder into your side, snickering at your restlessness. "Baby, I'm so sore".

He leans forward and presses soft kisses to the side of your face. "I'll be gentle, promise", he murmurs as he traces the line of your jaw.

You sigh, long and suffering, as if he had just asked you to endure a miserable task for him. He feels the corners of his lips perk up in amusement.

"Ok", you say, dragging out the ending syllables. "But only because I love you".

He grins, as he chases your lips once more. The kiss is awkward, and more of a press of teeth as neither of you can temper your smiles. "Love fucking me, you mean", he says as he ushers you off of his lap and onto the floor.

"Who says I can't do both?", you say, smiling at him, eyelids hanging low. Allowing yourself to be corralled by him as he guides you towards your bedroom.

He feels a shudder run it's way up his spine. In a different context-

"Not me", he rasps and pushes open the bedroom door.

And you were right, not to believe him. The promise of gentle immediately broken once he properly got his hands on you.

The room filled with pitched gasps and moans as he went round for round with you. He gripped the headboard as he basically drilled into you. The thought of how Hobi would have given it to you behind each punctuated thrust. How he might of stretched you out for him, been the one to exhaust you before him, your husband, could get the chance to.

And he knew he had a problem when he finally spilled into you and pulled out hard.

"Yoongi", you had whimpered, fresh tear tracks making their way down your cheeks. "Enough, too much".

"Ok", he had muttered. Shaky hands brushing down your spine. "'M sorry", he said in a hushed voice, pressing a kiss to your nape and untangling your fingers from the sheets.

And when he came back with a washcloth to clean you, he had to sit cross-legged to hide how hard he still was.

Though you didn't notice, arms gone lose around his neck as you more trailed your mouth across his biceps rather than actually planting kisses there. Body boneless and mind clear, put through the wringer by him and maybe Hoseok before that.

You had fallen asleep at some point during his ministrations, none the wiser to his internal struggle. He would have gone to the bathroom to take care of himself but the thought of it made him… guilty. Like he was doing something he wasn't supposed to. That maybe this little- distraction carried more weight than he liked to admit. And when he laid down next to you to try to sleep it off, the proximity of your skin and his set him on fire.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. You and Hoseok, fucking behind his back. He bit his lip as he curled into a ball, eyes squeezing tight and willing his mind to fall asleep and just stop.

But he laid there, all night. Scenarios increasing in length and filth. Hard on never subsiding, never calming down. Twitching in his pajamas until you had woken up in the morning and assumed he just had a case of morning wood.

And how sweet you were with it. Kisses pressed on his thighs and pelvis as you took him into your mouth.

He whimpered through it, fisting strands of your hair just to have something to hold onto. And when your nose met the end of him, throat constricting as you swallowed around him, he came down the back of your throat to the idea that those lips had been wrapped around someone else.

And you were none the wiser, swallowing what he gave you and smiling up at him sweetly.

He wanted to say that he had forgotten it there. A one off fantasy. Something that was hot in the moment but when he thought about it, really thought about it, wasn't going to happen.

But what started off as an itch in his mind was growing into a festering desire. Thoughts that accompanied him when he allowed his mind to slow.

What were you doing when you went to training with Hoseok? Was it normal to be as exhausted and sore as you were every time you came home?

And was the training just an excuse to find alone time with him, because you have never once been interested in running the entire time he has known you.

It was distressing, the idea that he wanted it. Wanted you to… with Hobi. He wanted you to lie in his face about it. Come home with marks on your neck and just brush it off as bruises. Make it so obvious that there was no missing what had happened between the two of you. He wanted you to flaunt it. Right in front of him.

So it continued like that, you would come home disheveled and sweaty, then Hobi would find an excuse to slip out the front door quickly. Not without occasionally sending him a smug look over his shoulder. He always found a convenient excuse to slip out of the dinner or drinks you offered him. Nobody at home to watch the cats, chores to do… whatever he could do to give Yoongi the perfect excuse to be alone with his wife for the night.

He didn't enjoy thinking about how it made him feel, that Hobi knew what he was doing with you.

You would pout at him, say something to the affect of "what a terrible friend he was, refusing to have dinner with you". Then he would rush you to the bedroom all over again with the flimsy excuse of just liking how you looked after training.

If it was anybody else it might have worked. But the fact of the matter is even when you were just dating, you were able to read him unnervingly well.

He shouldn't have been surprised when you started to catch on.

"This is happening a lot", you said rolling onto your side and looking at him.

He huffed, arms still crossed behind his head with his eyes closed. The both of you still panting from the extra workout you had gotten.

"Does it ever not happen a lot?", he mutters.

"Yoongi", you sighed. "That's not what I meant".

He goes rigid beside you, joints locking and muscles becoming tense.

Fuck, how does he pass it off? He wasn't ready to talk about it, wasn't even ready to acknowledge how he felt about it. Still comfortably living in the delusion that this was a harmless and fleeting fantasy.

"I don't know what you're talking about", he said. Words coming out harsher than he would have liked, trying to keep themselves trapped behind his teeth.

Great, nailed it. Not at all a suspicious thing to say.

"Yoongi", you said more firmly. He felt you prop yourself up on your elbow as you leaned over him. He didn't even try to escape the eye contact, knew you wouldn't let him weasel out of it so easy.

So when you grabbed the point of his chin, turning his face towards you, he let himself be dragged into observation.

And there you were, glowing in that post orgasmic haze, looking at him with a firm slash of determination. He felt his head tip down, subconsciously trying to look at your still bare body, but you simply tapped the bottom of his chin making him stay in the intensity of that gaze.

You let out a huff, eyes trailing over him thoughtfully as he squirmed in your hold. Your hand went lax, instead of pinching now cupping the line of his jaw with your thumb and swiping across it soothingly.

"What's going on?", you ask hushed. Gentle in a way to not corner him, but firm in that he knew he wouldn't get out of the conversation until you decided you were done with him.

He swallowed, throat going a bit dry.

"I already told you why".

"Did you?", you say. And he hears it for what it is. Did you tell me the actual reason?

"I just like the way you look after…", he winces, unable to finish the sentence. Knew how weak it sounded coming out of his mouth.

"Really?", you say raising an eyebrow at him. "There is absolutely no other reason why you sleep with me every time I come home after training with Hoseok?".

He wished you didn't say his name. The syllables falling from your tongue, landing as an electric shock on his spine that felt close to panic.

He closes his eyes for a moment, refusing to look at you until he gathers himself. Small breaths in and out as you patiently hover over him, waiting for him to decide when he could continue the conversation.

When he managed to calm, when he thought he could give a passable casual look, he stared right at you.

"Am I not allowed to love my wife?".

He saw it land, every inch of it. The growing weight of his own fear, how the sharp edges of it caught on your skin as you offered him a brittle smile.

And he was scared, so scared that you would call him out. That you would make him sit there until he shared every detail of his conflicted mind with you.

Instead you leaned over him, hands fully cupping his face and pulling him towards you. The kiss you plant on him is petal soft, sliding over him with a tenderness that could only come with loving someone for years. It made him a bit teary, a warm pressure pricking at the corner of his eyes, as he couldn't help but curl into you. Fingers gliding to the back of your neck and rubbing against the skin there.

"Not more than I love you", you whispered as you pulled away from him, thumbs brushing against the apples of his cheeks.

Your eyes flickered between each of his, cataloguing whatever you found within them. But he took the escape for what it was and buried his nose into the dip of your collarbone, huffing the scent of your skin and letting it drag him deep into his own dreams.

He tried to forget after that. Thought if he kept pushing the thoughts away that they would drown and fizzle out.

He stopped fucking you after running days.

He invited Hobi over more often.

He tried to stop thinking of… it when he was with you.

The more he tried to bury it the more- forbidden the whole thing felt. Which, he thought, teeth digging into the meat of his thumb, was a problem in itself. The more guilt he felt, the more he felt he was doing something wrong. It made it that much harder to let go.

So he tried to act, increasingly normal. Which of course only succeeding in making him look more bizarre to you.

Every reaction with his best friend, analyzed.

Every night spent with you, considered.

Every silence that filled with the weight of something, noticed.

But you never called him out on it, and while that should have filled him with a sense of relief it merely compounded the pressure he was already feeling.

Nearly a whole month passed before he broke, and allowed himself a moment of weakness.

In a 'normal best friend behavior' exercise, he had invited Hobi over to attend a showcase you were putting on. It's not an event he usually participated in, unless you explicitly asked him to. In the early public facing stages of your relationship, he wanted to be involved with every aspect of your life you allowed him to. He didn't even think twice about attending events with you. Gradually though, he noticed that the conversation he shared between sips of champagne grew less about photography and more about music.

More about him, rather.

You played it off well, familiar with the industry. There was no indication to how you really felt other than a brief glance towards him out of the corner of your eye. A silent conversation that ran between the both of you: 'wrong composition to ask about, bud'. As if Yoongi would be willing to rub shoulders and do them any favors, when they were blatantly ignoring the work of his partner. Instead of fellow art enthusiasts, he saw more and more reporters attempting to pack themselves into your showcases.

So he made his presence scarce, unless you wanted the support.

In this case, you had. Excitedly talking over his shoulder as you hung yourself on him cooking dinner one night.

"I think you'd like this series actually, I got to take photos of traditional wood working and it's just gorgeous-", you ramble in his ear as he stirs the japchae. He smiles softly as you shoot rapid fire technical terms at him. Talking about 'luminosity' and how you were mounting them for the showcase.

"If you want me to come", he says and grabs your hand resting at his shoulder. "I will come", and he presses a soft kiss into your palm.

You hum, tilting your head to press one to his cheek. "Should we invite Hoseok?"

He manages to barely even pause in his stirring, "should we?", he asks and the sound comes out a lot sturdier than he feels.

"I mean- he's already coming over drinks after the showcase anyway"

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "it is a little late notice, and he might not want to come to a black tie event on one of his days off".

You scoff into his shoulder, "please, when does that man ever pass up the opportunity to dress up and show off".

You had him there, he couldn't deny that without looking suspicious. Never mind the fact that he had a difficult time denying you anything.

What he wanted to do was bemoan the idea of seeing you and Hobi together in formal wear. What he managed to do was immediately acquiesce.

"I'll text him", he mutters. Words sliding out from the corner of his mouth.

You let out a brief excited noise, squeezing him real quick. "It's gonna be so funnn", you sing, sliding away from him and bounding off into the living room. "Invite him to get ready here too!", you shout over your shoulder.

He tenses, clenching chopsticks tightly in his fist.

"Why?", he asks. Though this time he doesn't manage to make his words sound anything but deeply agitated.

You poke your head around the corner, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow in his direction.

"If you are my personal guest to a showcase, you better believe I want a say in your outfit. I can't let him waltz into the showcase wearing… royal blue", you follow it with a shudder. "It would completely clash with the warm tones of my series!".

"Baby", he says and bites off a whine. "I know you don't set a dress code for these things".

You roll your eyes. "Not for the reporters or anything, but you both are with me. We're gonna match!".

He lets out a shuddering breath, nerves tingling at the phrase 'with me'. He could do this, he's gotten ready with Hoseok for over 13 years for god's sake. All he needed to do was think of it as just another day on the job. Just another quick change backstage.

"Ok", he says, turning to rub his hand over his face and pinch the bridge of his nose. "I will ask if he wants to get ready here, but I will not force him to be apart of some- live art agenda if he doesn't want to".

"He's going to", you say, and he can hear the smug smirk you speak through.

He sighs, long and drawn out, because yes. He's going to. He knows it.

So when he turns the burner off, fumbling in his pocket to grab his phone, shooting a quick text to Hobi, he can only accept the challenge to come.

Hoba: [Hyung~ taking me out?] 19:27

Hoba: [Of course I can ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧] 19:27

He bites his lip, teeth denting the flesh as he grips the edge of the counter.

Yoongi: [👍] 19:28

"He's coming", he calls to you, beginning to plate dinner with unsteady hands.

You say nothing, but he swears he hears a self satisfied huff from the other side of the wall.

When it's time for your showcase he barely manages to hold himself together. Pressed shoulder to shoulder with you both as you lean forward on the counter, applying eyeliner and yapping Hoseok's ear off about your series.

He takes it in stride, asking questions even though he knows he has no idea what you're talking about. Buttoning his freshly pressed dress shirt and affixing his cuff-links.

No reaction, other than a brief glance before he moves to fix his tie.

He even maintains conversation when he sees Hobi help you choose jewelry, moving behind you to clasp the necklace.

"Don't want your husband to help with this part?", he teases, eyes flicking to Yoongi playfully.

"yah-", Yoongi admonishes half-heartedly.

"If I need to choose between a pair of beanies, I'll call him in", you say snickering.

And when he's at the gallery, when all he has to do is turn slightly to the left and see both of you standing beside him, he stays in the role of smiling proud husband. Rather than a man who is currently in moral and sexual distress.

The only tell he gives is when you're leaving the gala, when the toe of your heel catches on an uneven part in the floor, which sends you stumbling forward. His hand darts out on instinct, going to grasp your waist to steady you before you can fall to the floor. Though, instead of meeting your skin, his palm spreads across another. Hobi's hand. He glances over at him quick, fingers flexing across his knuckles.

Hoseok send him a sunny, beaming grin. Wiggling his fingers underneath Yoongi's, a non-verbal 'I got it'.

Yoongi parts his lips slightly, looking at both of their hands spread across the bare skin of your back. He swallows before he pulls his hand away, with the urgency of someone who had been burned.

He thought once he got home he would be ok. That when he sat down and was able to put some distance between him and Hobi, that his ever climbing temperature would be able to cool down.

That was when it all went to shit.

"Yoongi", you called over your shoulder, closing and opening cabinets in the kitchen. "Where the hell is that wine you got?".

"What wine?", he calls to you. Drying his hands after washing them in the sink.

"That wine you got when you were in…", you wave a hand at him aimlessly. "I don't know, you guys travel a lot. Some country that makes a fuck ton of alcoholic grape juice".

He hears Hobi snicker behind him. "Specific", he says shooting you a teasing glance from his seat at the bar.

"I tried my best", you say all dramatic. Voice taking on a forlorn pitch as you continue your search through the kitchen.

"Do you want me to go check the basement?", he asks resting his hip against the counter. "There might be some down there".

"Mmm", you hum thoughtfully. "Yeah that would be nice, thank you baby".

He sees Hobi mouth "baby" at him as he passes, fake gagging and then giggling about it. He rolls his eyes at his friends antics, a small breath of amusement leaving his nose on his way past.

Giving him shit as if he wasn't 10 times worse when he was in a relationship.

A small twinge of discomfort at that thought, the corners of his mouth tucking down. He was always so… insufferable when he was into someone. He had the unique incapability of hiding just how attracted he was to a partner. It was obvious, abundantly so, to anybody within a 10 mile radius of him. I mean, the guy never even tried to hide it. More than content to be caught by multiple people.

Well that's… he thought, running his fingers over dusty wine labels. That's a topic he was firmly putting into the "no longer allowed to think about category". Caught and Hoseok in a sentence? No, shoving that thought away immediately.

He spent several minutes in the basement, combing through your- frankly concerning amount of alcohol. As he dusted off old labels, and sneezed repeatedly at the dust coming off them, he decided trying to find a wine off of your incredibly vague description was a waste of time. He pulled out a random bottle from the shelf, and seeing that it had a foreign language written on the label, decided it was good enough as he tucked it under his arm and made his trek up the stairs. I mean, the three of you were not picky. Hoseok would definitely just drink grape juice if you gave him the choice. No need to break out the good shit for someone you had both known for years.

When he turned the corner, heading into the kitchen, the sight he caught stopped him dead in his tracks. You had your back turned to Hobi, chatting with him as you cut up some fruit for them to snack on. On a surface level he seemed engaged, humming thoughtfully at your questions. Interjecting with details about his own day when appropriate. He clearly did not see, or realize that somebody was just behind the corner watching him.

He felt his hands shake slightly, lips parting as he tracked the movement of his friends pupils. And he knew without a doubt that they were glued to your ass. He would flick them back up, if you began to turn towards him. Smile sun-shiny and beaming, and then you would turn back to your task and like a magnet being pulled his gaze would inevitably fall lower. Much lower, trailing slow and thoughtfully over your dips and curves.

Yoongi felt his own lips part, breath coming out uneven as he stayed there. Tucked around the corner, watching him watch you.

A reasonable reaction would have been to step forward, disrupt the show. Maybe clear his throat and look pointedly at him.

A look that said, hey man that's my wife. Watch yourself.

Instead what he found himself doing was staying hidden by the wall so he could see…

A swallow.

If he would do anything else.

He watched as Hobi darted out his tongue and ran it slow over his bottom lip when you leaned over the counter to grab another apple.

Yoongi felt his own tongue dart out, mapping the same slow path he watched Hobi's take. And the action made him breathless, fingers trembling as he wanted to dig them into his own thighs. The movement of his arms caused smooth glass to go sliding out of his grip. Wine loosing itself from the upper crease of his arm. He watched in slow motion as it careened out of his grip and onto the wooden floor. His eyes still locked on Hoseok's mouth. His whole body feeling like lead as he failed to even try and reach out to catch it.

The sound was loud, glass splintering as it shattered on the floor. Dark red wine running in maroon rivers across it's surface. He didn't dare move from the spot as the shards fell beside his feet. Socks stained and hands turned sticky.

You jumped, swirling around and hopping quickly over to him.

"Yoongi!", you yelped. "Are you alright?".

On another day he might of chastised you. An aish watch your feet, I'm fine. Don't let yourself get hurt for me. As it were, he was only capable of staring at the sharp tense lines of Hobi's shoulder blades. They were hiked up to his ears, as he slowly turned to make eye contact with Yoongi.

You fret over him, picking glass off of his feet.

"You didn't get cut did you?".

He swallows, and flicks his tongue against the corner of his mouth. Stares at Hobi as he looks back at him. Gaze intense, unbreakable.

Yoongi knew. Hoseok knew.

That slight sense of panic in his eyes, that look… the look of someone who had been caught. It sent a shudder through his spine, shivering in the hallway with wine on his slippers.

"No", he rasped. "Just surprised… that's all".

He wasn't proud to admit that it was another night which lead to him seeking out your touch.

When Hoseok had finally left he pressed himself against you, half-hard and seeking.

"Yoongi!", you had yelped. Caught of guard by the sudden onslaught.

"Want you", he had murmured leaning forward to press his tongue to yours. Gliding across your bottom lip slow, shuddering when he imagined another.

He didn't even bother to hide the desperation behind his movements. Touch fast and needy when he took you to bed. Fumbling with the both of your clothes and just shoving fabric out of the way so he could slide into you that much faster.

You indulged him, matching his energy. His neediness. Took it so good, and without complaint.

"Fuck", he groaned. Tongue sliding against anywhere he could reach. Across your jaw, the line of your shoulder. He hit a particularly hard thrust, bracing his feet onto the floor as he drilled up into you. You let out a choked noise, hand sliding behind his waist to dig into his back.

"Shit, like that", you sighed into his ear, hips rolling in languorous circles on his lap.

He grabbed at the side of your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there and pulled you forward to sit you more firmly on his dick.

Holding you there, he drove himself up using the leverage of the floor, bouncing you slightly with his movements. You moan breathy in his ear, determined to meet his every thrust.

"God you're incredible", he pants into your shoulder, toes curling as you clench around him.

His teeth dig into your shoulder as he gets closer to cumming, biting down harshly to muffle his moans.

"Yoongi!", you yelp scrabbling to grab at his shoulders as he picks up speed. "Fuckkkkk", you moan. Head falling back as he slides a hand in between you and rubs fast circles on your clit.

"Gonna cum", you whimper. Legs squirming beside him. "So close baby".

He separates his teeth from your shoulder, licking over it slow to feel the divots left in the skin. He paints a path all the way up to your ear. Nipping the lobe between his teeth as he growls in your ear.

"Give it to me", he pants.

And you do, like the good listener you are. You clench down around him, hard, and it sends him hurdling towards his finish.

He swears his eyes roll into the back of his head, body arching up into you as he cums hard.

You gasp through it, squirming as he pumps slowly into you. Movements turning slick and audible when he cums in you.

But the same as that first night, that first dreadful night, when he pulls out he does so hard.

He maneuvers you out of his lap, twisting to lay you on the mattress as you gasp. Coming down from the high.

You pout at him when you see, as he hovers over you to give you pecks on the side of your face.

"Did you finish?", you ask, chest still heaving.

"I did", he assures. Pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Not enough?", you ask, sliding your calf along his dick. He grinds into it a few times, as you give him some pressure, but he sees the exhaustion in your face. Knows you have to get up early the next day for work.

"I'll take care of it", he says giving you an assuaging peck when you whine. "Get some sleep baby, it's late".

You sigh, sinking into the mattress as he throws sheets over you. Before he can even turn off the bedside lamp, you are out. Sleeping deeply and none the wiser to his problem.

He bites his lip as his palm roams your thigh, rubbing soothing patterns into the skin, considering.

He was still throbbing, thinking about the fact that he caught Hobi checking you out. So turned on by the confirmation that his friend was physically attracted to his wife. He bit his lip as he watched you snore away, mumbling and muttering in your sleep.

Was it ok, to do it without your knowledge? Think about you and Hobi… together. He didn't want to whore his wife out or anything. At least he was pretty sure that wasn't the reason. There was just something appealing about the idea of you two- being together.

Without him.

And he was afraid to name it, what specifically was making his dick twitch when he thought about it. What that meant for the both of you if it was persistent.

He sighed, sliding off your soaked underwear. The least he could do was clean you up, instead of just staring at you sleep while he had a sexual mental breakdown. He padded into the bathroom, shivering slightly at the cold feeling on his feet. Aiming to toss your underwear in the hamper, he stopped in his tracks when he passed the bathroom sink.

A bottle of cologne, sitting precariously on the edge.

Not his own, but Hobi's.

He stared at it, sweat beading at his temple as he clenched the soiled fabric of your underwear between his fingers.

He must have left it here when he was getting ready.

Slowly he felt his hand reach for the bottle, grabbing it in his other hand while he stood ramrod straight at the corner of the sink. He took a cursory sniff, eyes closing as he savored the woody scent of the bottle.

It made him harder, if anything. And it came with a thought.

A filthy one.

The idea of it made him break out into a cold sweat because he couldn't- there's no way he was seriously thinking of…

With unsteady hands he pressed his thumb to the top of the nozzle, depressing it slightly. His teeth biting his lip so hard the skin was turning white from the pressure.

Nobody was here to catch him.

So with a full body tremble he pressed fully down and gave a couple of good sprays onto wettest part of your underwear.

He set it down, fumbling and shaking. Nearly sending another glass object careening to the floor.

His lips parted as he exhaled in slight awe, finger running across your underwear and trying to parse out where the cologne had actually landed. It was too wet to see the difference, if he didn't know he wouldn't have been able to tell.

Then suddenly he was painfully aware of how hard he still was.

He palmed at it, gliding over the length of himself, to adjust not to…

But then he leaned forward and gave the soaked fabric a sniff, pulling in a deeper breath than he had for the cologne itself.

The mixing of scents made his knees grow weak, legs turning into jelly. His favorite taste in the world with the smell of Hobi.

It took little time to decide to rip off his boxers, shaky hands fumbling with the waistband before all but flinging it off of him.

He gripped his cock in his hand, giving it slow tugs. More teasing than committing to getting off like this. Mind full of should I, should I, should I's.

He took a deeper breath, letting out a moan that was definitely too loud considering you were sleeping one room over.

Fuck it, he thought, and got to work pumping himself fully.

He kept it close to his nose, taking greedy pulls of the scent as he stroked his cock. Hand growing slick with the mess the both of you had made prior to this bathroom excursion.

"Shit-!", he moaned. Twisting his palm around the head of his cock. Moving his hips now to meet the motion of his own hand.

Is this how you would smell, after fucking him? Would you leave the scent of him lingering on your skin? How long would it take before he began to smell Hobi every time he went down on you. Tongue lapping at your folds, chasing the wood notes and the…

He took one ragged breath, before he lolled out his tongue and made a slow drag over the soaked fabric. When he tasted the bitter flavor of cologne he let out a choked moan and spilled all over his hand, splattering onto the floor.

He pants softly in the aftermath, hands falling limp at his sides.

It was loud, the sound of it. The observation sent a cold tingling through him, as fear winds its way down his spine. He didn't know what he would say if you were to stumble out of bed and see him standing there in the mess of his own guilt.

Slowly, he moved towards the door. Tips of his toes first and then pressing his heel down into the marble. Softer that way, instead of the loud pwap his feet typically makes on the floor. Brushing his fingers against the handle, he hesitates. Studying the grain of the wood, head buzzing with the idea that you might be awake on the other side of the door.

He twists it slowly, avoiding the loud click of gears turning into place. When it is tilted all the way down, he pushes forward with the weight of his body. Centimeter by centimeter until he has just enough space for his eye to see your position on the bed.

There you were, sleeping soundly. Breaths coming out in peaceful puffs as your shoulders rise and fall. You were none the wiser to the mess he left in the aftermath of his own lack of self control. He rubbed at his chest, with the heel of his palm pressed into his heartbeat massaging at the frantic pace. It gradually slowed the longer he stood there watching you. Nobody to watch him, nobody to catch him. A secret that could stay buried for just a little longer. Hands shaking a bit, he reaches forward to pull the bathroom door shut. The wood swings into place with a quiet thwick.

It's not the end of the world, not in the slightest. He knows that. You may have been a mere feet from… the incident, but you didn't wake up to it. You were asleep, in bed. Right where he left you. He fumbles with his boxers, sliding and catching on the band, tucking his dick into the fabric as he feels the pace of his breaths speed up.

I'm fine, it's fine. Nothing happened. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine-

The phrase repeats through his head, running circles around his panicked thoughts. It does little to calm down the pace of his heart. The muscle jumps in his chest when he sees the translucent shine of the mess he made on the marble floor.

"Fuck", Yoongi mutters to himself and paces over to the kitchen sink. He grabs a fistful of hair, clenching at his roots with a harsh pressure. The reflection in the mirror stares back at him, just as panicked and shaken. He watches as it darts a tongue across it's dry lips, trembling as it combs hair away from it's forehead. I mean… it could have been worse? It seems to say, shaking fingers reaching to turn the faucet on.

He washes his hands first, still slick in his own mess.

The feeling of doing something he wasn't supposed to, it sets his senses on edge. Ears sharp and attuned to the sounds just behind the bathroom door, listening for any sound that would suggest you woke up and then rolled out of bed to find him.

Grabbing a wash cloth from the linen storage he runs it under the water, in a rush to clean the mess he could feel like eyes glaring through him.

He spends several minutes there, crouched on the bathroom floor, running a damp cloth over the grout. Knees getting pink and bruised from the constant pressure, he runs it back and forth through his own cum.

He mops the floor until there is nothing left, no possible evidence of what he did. And yet he stays there, scrubbing.

At invisible stains on the cold bathroom floor.